


The Whisky Speech

by torrentialTriages



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Dick Jokes, and imaginary dicks, bg kepcobi, kepler likes to reference the whisky speech and i love to take it and run, kepler/whisky is the true star ship of this fic, lots and lots of dick jokes, trans Jacobi, when will i consistently spell 'whisk(e)y' one way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torrentialTriages/pseuds/torrentialTriages
Summary: The favorite game of 60% of the Urania crew.(dicks out for kepler.txt)





	

**Author's Note:**

> we all need something happier after the hell time that was "time to kill". thanks to unnaturalhistory for the proofreading!!

**i.**  
  
"So," Alana begins, brushing the cloud of hair out of her eyes as she floats into their shared quarters. "Kepler gave me the whisky speech."  
  
"The- Jesus." Jacobi puts his book down. "Did he tell you all about how he loves-"  
  
"Uh-huh. The _smell_ , the _taste_ , the _feel_ of it in his _hand_." Jacobi grudgingly acknowledges the accuracy of her Kepler impersonation. Maxwell snickers as she approximates sitting, starting to hammer away at her keyboard. "He might as well be talking about dicks! D'you ever feel like that too?"  
  
Jacobi snorts. "Ohhh, yeah. Sometimes I just wanna go-" He curls his fingers, pinky standing to attention, and mimes a rough blowjob, completing the effect by prodding his cheek with his tongue in time with the thrusting, and Maxwell shrieks with laughter. "You know? While he's talkin'."  
  
_"You should do it,"_ Maxwell says, eyes twinkling with ideas. "Some kind of game would make the whisky speech _bearable._ "  
  
"What- I don't think I get- oh. Ohhh." Jacobi gives the imaginary dick a final slurp, then relaxes his fingers. "Sure, why not?"  
  
Maxwell nods, enthused. "It's on."

 **ii.**  
  
The whisky speech game comes into effect four days later, when Kepler apparently feels the urgent need to inform Maxwell of his productivity policy again.  
  
"You know, Maxwell," and here Kepler produces an overglorified sippy cup of what can only be whisky (where was he hiding it??), "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate having whisky on the Urania?"  
  
Behind Kepler, Jacobi bolts upright (as much as he can in zero gravity) and makes wild eye contact with Maxwell. _Here it is._  
  
"I believe you have, sir," she responds truthfully. It wasn't like it would stop Kepler. Jacobi mimes popping his lips off of a dick, which is also mimed. Well, implied in the air around him and his hand. He looks like a goddamn shampoo commercial, throwing his head back in what was probably meant to be fake ecstasy but looked more like the beginnings of a sneeze.  
  
"It's a little luxury I'd like to keep enjoying," Kepler continues, true to form. Alana allows herself a thin exhale through her nose. "The weight of it. The smell. The taste. A small comfort, a reward at the end of the day."  
  
Jacobi drags his tongue over the imaginary phallus in his loose fist, eyes half-lidded, exaggerated fake silent moans putting porn stars, whether on Earth or in space, to shame.  
  
Maxwell nods, solemnly. "I understand, sir."  
  
"Good, then you understand how you are like my whisky? A bonus, at the end of the mission, but ultimately unnecessary for the job at hand?"  
  
_Don't sigh, Alana. Don't think about Jacobi, deepthroating air behind your commanding officer's back._ "Yes, sir."  
  
Kepler nods, mollified. "Good." Jacobi instantly uprights himself again, all business again. "I'm glad we understand each other." He drifts off, headed God knows where.  
  
Jacobi is the first to break the silence. "Man, why are you so hard to please?"  
  
Maxwell snorts, then shakes her head. She blurts, "You can talk to me once you've learned how to suck dick properly."

**iii.**

"Why do we have a tuning fork?" asks Jacobi, pulling the offending object out of the drawer. Some supplies had gotten knocked loose after a certain crew member, who would not be named and had been properly shamed, had misjudged the effects of detonation in a severely enclosed space.  
  
"Put that back," Maxwell says sternly from the other side of the room.  
  
"Roger." He tosses the fork back into the drawer. "Could you hand me the wrench? Looks like a few screws are loose on the paneling here."

Maxwell huffs. "Fine. Catch." Jacobi snatches her overhand wrench toss, pushed back slightly by the momentum.   
  
"Oh, that reminds me." Jacobi resists the urge to turn towards the source of the jaunty modulated voice. "Jacobi, have I ever told you about the time I incapacitated some bank robbers with nothing but pliers and a plastic fork?"  
  
Jacobi inhales. God give him strength. Then he shuts the drawer, turns around, and studiously avoids looking into Kepler's eyes without seeming obvious. "No, sir. I don't think so."  
  
"Oh, well, allow _me_ to tell you. So there I was, in line at the bank, when..." Jacobi squints minutely over Kepler's shoulder. Was Maxwell... ?  
  
_This isn't the_ time _for the whisky game,_ Jacobi tries to frown over Kepler's shoulder. Maxwell gives him a saucy grin and slurps along the underside of one of the imaginary dicks.  _Oh yes it is,_ her dancing eyes tell him.

He rolls his eyes. She blows a silent raspberry at him.

His eyes narrow.  _You did not just do that._

Maxwell waggles her fingers out of her ears.  _You bet I just did._

Jacobi squints harder and scrunches up his face, mock-seriously, pointing accusatorily at her over-

" _Mister_ Jacobi," Kepler utters, disapproval written bold in his voice. Jacobi, despite himself, shivers, and reflexively bows his head, something hooking into his sternum and pulling him down, towards Kepler.

"Sorry, sir," he mutters automatically, fingers flexing subconsciously on the wrench in his hand.

"Could you at the very least  _try_ to be serious for five minutes?" Kepler's unimpressed stare flushes Jacobi's cheeks red-hot.

"Yessir."

"Very well. As I was saying, once the teller had realized what was going on, I'd already managed to..." Jacobi sighs softly as he continues to tighten the bolts on the loose panel. Every so often, he makes sure to nod at the appropriate time and hum like he's listening.

"... Long story short, it was sure a damn good thing I'd had a fork on me. Those fellas didn't even know what hit them."

"I see," deadpans Jacobi, peering at the panel. He wonders how one would upgrade their contacts prescription in space.

Eventually, Kepler decides they can handle the rest of the clean-up, as he goes to check the next room over, leaving Jacobi and Maxwell alone together.

She is  _so_ smug, when he turns around. "You lost."

He grumbles. "I know. Shut up."

**iv.**

"Rough shift?" asks Maxwell as Jacobi drifts into their shared space, looking haunted. His face is ruddy and his curls are wilder than zero gravity can explain, and he makes a beeline for his bunk, grabbing what passed for a pillow in space and groaning into it. "Daniel?" A louder groan. "What happened?"

Jacobi props his chin up and sighs heavily. "So, uh... me and Colonel Kepler were... uh..." He mashes the heels of his palms together several times, unwilling to say it out loud. Maxwell wrinkles her nose mock-judgementally. "And... I...  _God._ All I could think of was the whisky speech." Maxwell stares.

Then she bursts out laughing.

"Hey, hey!" Jacobi sits up immediately, ready to defend his honor. "I almost  _choked_ , I- I didn't wanna choke going down on him just because of something he-"

"You're both in the same boat," Maxwell tells him as scoots closer, poking him playfully. "You both like... the  _taste_ of it. The  _smell_ of it." How had she memorized Kepler's exact inflection? "The  _feel of it in your hand._ "

"Oh, God," he groans. "Now I'm going to think about it every time I'm with him."

"You're one gross fucker," Maxwell tells him fondly.

Jacobi laughs this time, a small choppy sound. "Oh, baby, you bet I am."

**v.**

They're just leaving the Virgo Constellation when they decide that props are allowed. They're just entering the Leo constellation when it actually happens.

"We've got a lot of toothpaste," Jacobi says out of nowhere in the storage hold, his hands on his hips, surveying the area.

"Yeah, and?" Maxwell, clutching her iPad, trails shortly behind, ducking to avoid the door frame.

Jacobi turns to her, arching his eyebrows. "Well, you said we could use props, didn't you? We got props," he rummages in a nearby box, revealing a very full tube of toothpaste (extra whitening action, mint flavored, guaranteed to shield your mouth from seven different mouth diseases), "right here."

Maxwell examines it skeptically. "Where would you even keep that?"

Jacobi snatches it back out of her hands and smirks. "I could pretend I was packing with it, y'know." He lays the tube across the inner side of his thigh, waggling his eyebrows.

" _Gross_ _!_ " Maxwell splutters, shoving him. Both of them start cracking up. "Don't make me think about your dick!"

Maxwell leaves storage feeling pretty good about the game, but that just so happens to be the day that Kepler gives them _the speech_ , yet again, and the moment Jacobi unzips the pocket on the outer side of his thigh, Maxwell's eyebrows shoot up into her bangs as she realizes this game is actually a very, very terrible idea.

 _No no no no no,_ she cringes at Jacobi as he winks lasciviously and purses his lips over the cap.  _No, don't do that, not right now,_ and then she realizes with a creeping sense of horror that Kepler has trailed off.

"What seems to be the matter, Doctor?" He turns around. "It's just-  _Mister Jacobi,_ " grits Kepler, freezing steel in his voice.

Jacobi freezes, saliva smeared all over the toothpaste tube. "Ye'thir?"

"Can you, perhaps, act like the competent adult and crew member I  _know_  you are capable of being, for  _maybe_ five minutes?" Kepler pinches the bridge of his nose, then lets out a deep sigh, turning partially back to Maxwell. "You- you know what, I-" He throws his hands in the air. "No  _more_ of this- this," he gestures at the air around him, " _whatever_ you call it. We are here on a  _mission_ , I'd hoped you'd remember that before you forget and start prancing around like mindless monkeys, but  _apparently_ that is  _too much to ask_ from a pair of  _children_."

Jacobi looks a little taken aback for a second. _I'm 33,_  he mouths to Maxwell. She glares at him.

"I'm only going to say this once." Kepler breathes deeply, slowly, then continues, voice low and biting. "We are _professionals_. The crew of the Hephaestus may not know that, but no matter what we _make_ them think of us, no matter how much you pretend, we are not here to be their _friends_." He continues, softer but no less potent. "We are not here to stoop to their level. We are here to do our job, and do it _well_." He steeples his fingers in front of his chest. "If I catch so much as a word of this happening again, I will make your life so miserable you will want nothing more than to be out there with the star, spacewalking with a faulty suit, or, hell, no suit at all." Kepler fixes each of them with a skewering glare. "Do I make myself clear?"

They both nod.

"Good." Kepler moves to leave. "Oh, and by the way, Mr. Jacobi," he adds, turning back to them with his hand on the wall. "Your form is absolutely  _deplorable_." One side of his mouth twitches upward in a vague smug smirk. "We'll have to work on that, shall we?"

Maxwell doesn't even wait for Kepler to leave before starting to guffaw uncontrollably at a maroon-faced Jacobi. " _I told you so."_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] The Whisky Speech](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10883634) by [TwoMenAndAGuava (drakkynfyre47)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakkynfyre47/pseuds/TwoMenAndAGuava)




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